Wouldn't You Like To Get Away?
by larrythestapler
Summary: Minerva is a young, strict teacher waiting for an interview at The Hog's Head. Abe is a flirty bartender slash playboy in need of a new waitress. What will happen when those two clash? Based on the TV show, Cheers, which I do not own.


**Wouldn't You Like To Get Away?**

**Rating: T**

**Pairing: Aberforth/Minerva**

**Category: Humor/General**

A/N: I know, very odd pairing! Abe's years older than our lovely Professor, but what the heck, it is fanfic world, and it's nice to play around a little, tweaking the age differences. This is by farrr, my favorite fanfic I wrote because of the little jokes and better writing. By the by, I got most of my jokes and the storyline from the sitcom, "Cheers." It's a very funny, heartwarming show, though a little old. Check it out, like you awesomely just checked my fanfic out!

_Disclaimer: I do not own Cheers or Harry Potter._

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Aberforth walked into the small, shoddy bar, tossing an old green bottle of Firewhiskey into the air playfully, reaching his hand out to turn on the lights. He breathed in the old, familiar musty smell of The Hog's Head. Tall, dark, and handsome, it felt particularly special for Abe to have a place he could call home, a place where the poor unfortunate souls could call home and drown themselves in diluted alcoholic drinks. A nostalgic song played in his head every morning he walked in. Overall, life was great.

"Aberforth!!"

"Elphias, my man," Aberforth exclaimed, lifting his fedora to greet the pudgy, young man disinfecting the oak tables. He hung his dusty sports jacket on the enchanted rack and smoothly tossed the bottle to Elphias Doge, his co-manager.

"Beautiful morning, ain't it?" Elphias asked, trailing off back into the kitchen.

"It sure is swell, Elphy." Aberforth settled behind the bar counter and threw on his apron. At the handsome age of twenty-nine, girls mooned over him. He had a thick head of dark brown, curly hair. His teeth were straight and perfect, and his nose just a little crooked to show an insatiable damage on his body.

He took in a breath, and felt the peace of the morning vibrate through his body. The young man danced a little on the newly polished floor, holding himself and leading himself around the room. No customers had arrived yet.

"_Ah mon dieu! J'ai un rendez-vous avec une prof à neuf heures. Il est neuf heures cinq. C'est mal, c'est tres mal. Je ne comprend pas! Tres, tres dommage!_" A stressed young woman barged in, leaving the soft bells ringing at the door resonate throughout the entire bar. Her anxiety came in with her; Abe did not like it. He wanted the bar to be a calm environment for the desperate wretches entering. This girl began to ruin the atmosphere.

"_Soins pour le fromage? Dans mon pantalon_," The suave bartender recited the French pick-up line his older brother had taught him to say to girls. He never fully understood what it meant, but judging upon the uptight girl's stabbing glare, he did not think it was a good pick up line.

"Excuse me, that is extremely childish," the girl said in perfect English. "I'm looking for Madame Olympe Maxime, from Academi de Magie, Beauxbatons? I was supposed to meet her five minutes ago."

"Never heard of her. No lady's been here yet. Say, if you _want_ a baton, I have one right here…" Aberforth whispered in her ear lewdly.

"Excuse me again, but that can be construed as sexual harassment! Now please, I'm not going to bother staying here if you keep up this behavior. And if she does come here, tell her my name is Minerva McGonagall."

"Abe Dumbledore. Suit youself, Minerva darling. You're the goddess of brains…" Abe shrugged, trailing into the kitchen with Elphias. The young green-eyed girl sat patiently in her seat, though did not stop the rhythmic tapping of her foot. She was bored, and eyes around the bar carefully. It was definitely old; probably a few decades. A homely feeling lifted in the ambiance of the small bar, though cobwebs formed in corners here and there. Waiting tables surrounded the room, neatly organized with condiments and napkins.

More curious objects hung on the wall. An elf head hung proudly on the wall, to Minerva's disgust. Wine bottles of different classes were kept on the wall by some interesting enchantment. She walked up to the wine bottles. But Minerva felt the tightly kept bun on her head spring out after oppressive hours of potential elastic energy; her thick black hair curled, and her barrette snapped in half on the ground. She bent down to pick it up, only to see the bar's owner staring at her.

"You've got a fine figure, Miss. Minerva." Abe held a cup of coffee to his mouth, pretending to drink nonchalantly as he leaned against the yellowish wall, watching her bend down. Minerva grumbled and went back to her seat. She threw herself into a thick history text, and eyed Aberforth vigilantly when he cleaned the counter with a dusty old rag. They heard a tapping at the window, the bells ringing ever so loudly. She turned.

An owl crashed into the small room, and spit out a blue letter. Abe looked at it cautiously. He handed it to the young lady waiting at the bar counter.

"What is this," she stated, rather than asked.

"Perfume samplings. They send it to me all the time."

"So you think that just because I'm a woman, I would be interested in this poppy cock? How patronizing."

"Yep," he answered confidently, staring deeply into her sea foam green eyes. His were so blue, though not ocean blue, an eerie bright blue that showed authority and confidence. So blue, she wanted to pull his eyes out and grab the source of the blue. She was hypnotized, but came back to reality and grabbed the sample obnoxiously.

Her nostrils snared. She opened the indigo envelope daintily, only to find a screaming voice fill the silence in the room, the envelope opening itself and forming itself into the shape of an angry woman's mouth.

"ABERFORTH PETER DUMBLEDORE, YOU DISGUSTING, FILTHY, BESTIAL, LECHEROUS, TWO TIMING JERKHOLE FACE. HOW DARE YOU LEAVE ME FOR THAT PROMISCOUS, MANSTEALING WOMAN? BOTH OF YOU ARE DESPICABLE, SORDID PEOPLE WHO DESERVE NOTHING KIND. I HOPE MAN-EATING DOGS BITE YOU AND KICK YOU IN YOUR KICKWORTHY BALLS. ROT IN HELL WITH HADES, YOU FILTHY, CHEATING SCUMBAG."

The letter tore itself into bits of paper and confetti'd over Minerva's head. Abe hid underneath his counter, before she could see him. She sat there, appalled, violated. But then the anger kicked in, and Minerva walked behind the counter quietly. She stared at Abe with a heating glare in her eyes. Embarrassment trickled down her throat like a sugar too sweet, and she croaked the muscles in her mouth and formed the words with just enough hatred and anger in them, "You son of a---"

"So, Minerva, you a student?" Abe asked nervously, running his hand throw his thick, dark hair, crouching on the polished floor of the bar.

"No, a teacher, waiting for an interview, remember?" Minerva responded, flattered. "But in a way, I suppose I am a student. Not a student in an academic sense, but a student in the teaching field. A student of life even, perhaps. Understand what I'm saying?" Minerva loved the sound of her own voice sanctimoniously pronouncing her newest cause. Abe...was okay with it.

"Oh, yes." Abe said, sipping his joe, letting out an annoying slurping sound. He stood up confidently after relievingly knowing that Minerva calmed down , and watched her return to the stool on the opposite side of the counter.

"How uncouth. This is why my cousin never married a man," Minerva said loftily, taking out her book again.

"She's missing out."

"I doubt it. All men want to do is take advantage of women. They embrace trust, and get it from intimidating others with their looks," she glared, "and actions. I've done a research paper at my secondary school. With no doubt. Now please, since we cannot engage in a proper conversation, just pretend I'm not here for the moment."

"Okay, party pooper."

Elphias stepped out of the kitchen and brought a lugging keg of beer in front of Abe. "Well, well, who's this charming young lady? Looking for Quidditch boys?"

"He's flirting with you Minnie." Minerva did not bother to look above her book.

"So what do you do?"

"She's a tea—"

"Please do not tell everybody about my personal affairs!" The raven-haired woman snapped angrily. She was impatient and annoyed with the bestial, crude creature inhabiting this bar. Her misery was well concealed beneath her anger, and just a flame of hope, no matter how small, hoped that the French professor would meet her, apologizing that she came late because of traffic or some other excuse.

"So I can make up what I want?"

"Sure! I don't care!"

"She's a prostitute from a Wizarding motorcycle gang," Abe said, with a straight face. Elphias scooted away from Minerva, who rolled her eyes and let out a small scoff. Abe checked his reflection in the beer glasses, and heard the shuffling of the bells near the door.

"Madame Maxime?" the young girl perked, hoping to see an ambassador from the girl school. She saw a giant, large man enter the room instead. The room shook a little when he stepped in, and Minerva heard glasses crack in the back room.

"HAGRID!" Elphias and Abe greeted boisterously.

"Elphias, Abe, my men! Who's this young lady?" Hargrid asked, his eyes sparkling at Minerva.

"Muriel Weasley. Hooker in a Wizarding motorcycle gang," Elphias cut. The shuffling bells at the door rung over and over again as customers piled in the bar, seating themselves. The pudgy man slid a cup of Butterbeer over to Hagrid who thanked him graciously and threw a Galleon in return.

"She's not a hooker. She's a teacher and she's waiting for some lady named Maxime Olympics," Abe corrected. Elphias began bringing refreshments to the customers as they ordered glasses of coffee and Butterbeer to early customers.

"'At's just swell, then. You know, Abe could have played in the Olympics. He was the best Quidditch player there was." Hagrid took a seat next to Minerva and she felt her stool jump up.

"Oh really?"

"Yeah, until he bought this place up. To Abe, one hell of a player in every sense!" Hagrid raised his cup of foaming liquid and drank. He let out a repulsive burp and continued talking about Abe, who modestly denied all his claims. Minerva opened her book again and continued reading until the pages became dull, and her heart finally broken. Hours had passed, and she had not found the ambassador anywhere in sight, consoling herself by ordering drink after drink. She had been jilted. Minerva ordered a bucket of vodka.

"We don't sell those."

"Oh," she said, poking the bright red cherry in her martini. "Do you ever suffer from any sort of ennui, any at all when lost, depressed, suicidal souls float to your bar to tell you these sad, miserable, pathetic stories?"

"By ennui I'm guessing you mean boredom. I'm used to it. It's complicated." Abe watched her closely, folding his hairy arms on his chest. Minerva began ranting whinily, and he listened kindly, taking a seat next to her, understanding that it was the only thing left to do.

"It's just that, I was just so sure I'd get the job! She said that I was one of _the_, emphasis on _the_, best new students out there. I've gotten so many degrees and such. My life is over. If they find my body tomorrow, just tell them that I, Minerva McGonagall give you, Aberforth Peter Dumbledore, all of my possessions. I cannot wait any longer. I am qualified to do absolutely nothing. I'm ruined."

"You know…we could use a waitress," Abe tentatively suggested.

"Wait, are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?" The young girl looked at him square in the eye. He didn't honestly think that _she_ would work in this sad little dump?

"I need a waitress and you need a job. Makes perfect sense. Plus you think I'm an incredibly handsome guy. My _looks_ intimidate you."

"Are you ludicrous? Me, Minerva McGonaggall, postgraduate of some of the finest schools in the country, work for you in this dirty, bestial, filthy hole you call your sad little bar?" she asked rhetorically, her mouth held high in the air.

"Yep," he said, staring deep into her eyes, digging for defiance.

"You, my friend, are a madman. I shall rescue myself from this situation by taking the Knight Bus home because I have no possession of a wand. Or Floo Powder. But I will not stay here and be insulted by you, you wrinkly, tan, piggish man. Hmph!"

"Suit yourself, smart goddess." She turned, marching out, every customer in the room looking at her.

She came back in five seconds. "I don't have enough money," she groaned.

Abe merely grinned.

**To be continued~**


End file.
